


This World Without You

by Afflitto



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afflitto/pseuds/Afflitto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"None of this seemed to advance their mission in any tangible way. Wall Maria and all of the corresponding land was still lost--and for all soldiers killed trekking into enemy territory they seemed no closer to reclaiming what rightfully belonged to humanity. If not for being ripped apart by titans, what good were their lives? How many more like Marco would be struck down in the prime of youth without a hint of recognition or dignity, lost in the tide of death--as insignificant as blades of grass burned in the wake of a wildfire? Just one more day. One more day was all it would have taken for both Marco and Jean to be safely within the confines of the innermost wall, safe from this nightmare where denial would cost them nothing."</p><p>SNK Kink Meme request de-anon:  "When Jean hits his head, he wakes up in an AU where he and Marco are able to join the Military Police before the Battle of Trost occurs.  However, as major (spoilerific) events unfold, Jean struggles between his identity as the man he was before Trost and the man he'd become fighting in the Recon Corps.   Can he cling to this dream where Marco lives, or will he wake to face reality and fight for humanity?</p><p>Jeanmarco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written an Attack on Titan fic before, so this is an odd experience for me.
> 
> I've decided to de-anon before completion because I took a few months to update on the meme, and they don't allow you to post "updates" of fics on the fill list. So it's basically lost in the tide of fics and comments.

Jean saw Marco today.

Glinting in the reflection of a titan’s eyes, half a foot from where he crested a rooftop to avoid snapping teeth and a clumsily swinging fist.

Too close.

Crushed tiles pelted Jean’s back. He moved on instinct--the clash of his boots on another rooftop--the whir of 3DMG propelling him forward, gas exploding out the end as ropes shot him through a twisting maneuver. Gravity reversed itself, but Jean leaned slightly and righted himself to avoid crashing into a bell tower.

Metal clattered uselessly against stone and gravity slipped.

Hissing, Jean tilted and swung like a man from a vine, angling his feet to slam against the opposite building. He pushed off in a horizontal run and sprung into open space. Then, emerging from the alleyway, Jean shoved his boot into the back of a titan’s neck, swords swinging in an arch. He sliced deep.

“--Jean, stop wasting your gas.”

Jean gritted his teeth, catching a glimpse of Eren from the corner of his eye, followed by Mikasa. Green cloaks fluttered behind quick movements like solid wings behind them. 

“Follow your own damn advice,” Jean shot back.

“Hanji said to capture them alive anyway, you idiot,” Eren shouted. They parted ways then looped back around a crop of half crumbled buildings. The shriek of a titan nearby shattered the wind-soaked silence.

“If anything, this is only training,” Jean muttered. And what for. None of this seemed to advance their mission in any tangible way. Wall Maria and all of the corresponding land was still lost--and for all soldiers killed trekking into enemy territory they seemed no closer to reclaiming what rightfully belonged to humanity. If not for being ripped apart by titans, what good were their lives? How many more like Marco would be struck down in the prime of youth without a hint of recognition or dignity, lost in the tide of death--as insignificant as blades of grass burned in the wake of a wildfire? Just one more day. One more day was all it would have taken for both Marco and Jean to be safely within the confines of the innermost wall, safe from this nightmare where denial would cost them nothing.

If the Battle of Trost had just occurred one day later—

“Watch out.” It was Mikasa, hair whipping into her face. She jerked backwards to avoid the explosion of tiles and rubble as a titan burst through the house in front of her. She twisted around, hitting the ground and taking off down an alley.

From the building beside, Jean angled after her and Eren. “Just have to lead this little fucker over to—“ 

The titan charged on four legs over the roof--

\--A chunk of debris slammed into one of Jean’s 3DMG lines and yanked him sideways so sharply that he tasted blood in the wake of sharp pain in his side. The ground—-no the side of a building—crashed into his body—or vice versa. His yelp was lost to the hollow ringing in his ears and the black that exploded in place of consciousness.

Through the murky depths Jean heard Eren scream as if through water. “JEAN!”

And then the transition of harsh panic to a gentle chiding laugh and the prickle of sunlight across his cheek. The bark of a tree was rough against his back. A gentle breeze lifted the scent of waving grass into the air.

“Jean, wake up. The Military Police isn’t a ticket to slacking off, you know.”

Jean opened his eyes to a face full of freckles.

“…Marco?”


	2. A New What-If

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, this fic will be rampant with spoilers, as it follows parallel to the plotline of the manga from the perspective of the AU that Jean is trapped in.
> 
> Doing my best to get the hang of the characters!

“Yes…?” Marco tilted his head, but offered a hand so that Jean could pull himself to his feet. “How long were you asleep anyway? You seem a little out of it.”

Unsteady, Jean supported most of his weight against the tree, head tilted sideways, bark digging into his temple like the remnant of some pain that he should be feeling—

Intense pain.

Pain that came from rubble collapsing on one’s body.

He winced, the titan’s snarl flashing before his eyes. The breath snatching from his lungs with the yank of 3DMG. The building slamming into him. Eren’s screaming. Instant darkness.

Then Marco’s face. Not burnt out. Mouth not twisted in agony. Skin not ice cold and white as death. Arms and legs present, long and limber. Freckles sprinkled over cheeks vibrant with life.

Jean choked. “Oh fuck it, I’m dead, I’ve died.” Still, he reached trembling fingertips to graze Marco’s face. Warmth. His breath caught in his throat. Eyes squeezed through tears he hadn’t realized were forming. They were hot against his face.

Marco’s expression pinched into concern, brows furrowed, mouth slightly open as he tilted his head to one side. “Jean? Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?”

Jean brought a sleeve to rip through the tears in his eyes, sniffled, but slapped a grin on his face. It looked more like a pained grimace. “Of course not. I just—-I was just having a nightmare. Whatsit to you?”

Marco shrugged, but rested a hand on his back. He hesitated when Jean flinched, but the other soon relaxed into his touch, like finally surrendering to a sort of weariness he’d been struggling against all along. 

“C’mon,” said Marco, helping him along out through the little grove of apple trees, past a gate, and back into the brick streets of the inner city. “Let’s go find some food. They had us up pretty late last night escorting those prisoners, so you’re probably exhausted. A bit of nutrition should help!”

Jean was silent until they reached the barracks. He shed his jacket, but hesitated over it a minute, laid out over his bed, the unicorn insignia flowing with the rolls of bunched fabric. Military police. Cautiously, he glanced over at Marco, catching a glimpse of the Unicorn stamped on the pocket on his chest. So this really was the inner city, and that really was Marco standing over there shedding the belts and loops of his 3DMG gear and tucking the metal consoles beneath his bed. Jean looked down at himself and did the same. He felt naked without the constraining belts, but when he rolled up his shirt, he found that the bruises from the bands across his chest were faded into a dull grey. They had been red the day before—vivid from constant fighting and maneuvering in the recon corp, the leather digging through his shirt into his skin with each movement. But here, with the military police…?

“Jean…?”

The other quickly yanked his shirt down again. 

Marco only laughed. “There’ll be time to check yourself out later. C’mon!” He walked out the door without waiting.

Realizing that he had no idea where to go, Jean jogged to catch up. His legs wobbled with the lengthened stride, but he clapped a hand to Marco’s shoulder to play it off as he settled back into a walk. “Sooooo, any idea what’s for dinner?” His hand remained longer than necessary, as if he was determined to keep a hold of Marco, like some titan would come crashing through the wall and snatch him away again.

“I suppose the same thing as usual,” Marco said. He tilted his head again, lips pursed, but said nothing. 

The mess hall was alive with the chatter of soldiers scattered across wooden tables or couches, metal trays in their laps overflowing with fruit and vegetables and chunks of beef. A few commanders huddled around a table in the back, sipping idly at beers, completely at ease. Once they retrieved their food, Marco led Jean to a table of unfamiliar faces.

“Annie’s gone again?” Marco asked as he rested his tray down. “Is she sick or something? I noticed she wasn’t here during drills this morning again…” His brows furrowed, but he took a few bites of a bread which he’d smeared butter on.

Jean slouched onto the bench beside him. He ate voraciously. Food like this nonexistent in the forest where the best they had were dried rations and tough strips of jerky when rabbits were scarce.

“She’s probably just skipping out, that lazy bitch,” a guy opposite answered with a little shrug. “It’s not like she’s missing much, but it’s definitely a bit of an insult to the rest of us who drag ourselves through the patrols each day.” He barked a little laugh, “Maybe they’ll throw her back outside this wall if she continues to disgrace the insignia like that.”

Marco shook his head. “Hmm, doesn’t really seem like her.” He tugged Jean’s sleeve with a little smile, “If anything, I’m just glad we all made it safely and can make a difference to mankind. I'm sure Annie is too.” 

"Better than being slaughtered in the Battle of Trost with the rest of those dumbasses!" the same soldier sneered. He rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer.

Marco's lips tugged into a little frown.

Jean nearly choked on huge chunk of potato in his mouth. An uneasiness coiled in his chest. The room took on a radio silence where talking could not penetrate the dull haze cloaked over his mind. The food lost its taste.

Jean did not speak again until Marco stood to put his tray away. He followed him as far as the conveyor belt, but made a grab for the back of his jacket. Then he just stood there, clutching at the fabric over the Military Police Unicorn. Marco froze.

“Marco, I just have one question to ask,” Jean said quietly. “Exactly…what happened in the Battle of Trost? Were we—were we there?”

Without turning, Marco answered just as softly. “Jean, of course we weren’t there. We were here training for the Military Police. You know that.”

“So, all those people died? Just the Garrison people? People like—-people like Mikasa and Eren were fine? Out with the Recon Corps like crazy dumbasses?”

Marco hung his head, “You know I haven’t really heard either way. But they didn’t really have the opportunity to pick yet. Don’t you remember, the Military Police demanded its enlistees a few days early to deal with that uprising. The other two branches were to collect their members sometime after. So—-I can only hope and pray that Eren and Mikasa are alive and well after the horrific events of Trost, but I can’t say for sure, and I’m not sure who to ask to find out.”

Jean grit his teeth. “But people were slaughtered--?”

Marco nodded. Finally he turned, tugging free of Jean’s grip to look him in the eye. His own melted with a quiet sadness, an innocence that persisted in the wake of tragedy. “I heard that a lot of the soldiers ran out of gas and the supply team was overtaken before they could bring fresh supplies.”

Jean’s expression darkened. A memory flashed in his eyes. Running out of gas and unable to fight or flee. Mikasa and Armin’s exchange. Convincing the others to follow, to meet the resuppliers, to not accept death at its terms. The rogue titan. Breaking in and using old rifles to outsmart the 4m titans wandering in the supply. Marco at his side. He squeezed eyes shut. “But they—-what about a rogue titan? There was a titan who helped.”

“Jean—-I don’t know anything about that,” Marco said. “I heard they managed to seal the hole in the wall-—but there are a lot of rumors about that, and they keep it all so well hushed up.” He took Jean’s arm in his, aware of the prying eyes and desperate to get Jean, who was trembling and pale, back to his room so he could rest. “Come on. You don’t look so good, so you’re going to lie down a little bit…” He had begun to shake himself.

Once he’d gotten Jean into his bed and tucked in, he sat across in his own. “Why…why all these questions all of a sudden? Jean, did something happen?” Wide eyes expressed nothing but confused concern.

Jean shook his head with a little grunt. “I just—“ He bit back a flow of curses, took a few deep breaths, and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. When he did speak, his voice was softer than ever. “I just, I wonder if things could have turned out differently—“

 _If I had been there, they would have_ , he realized.

“I don’t know,” Marco murmured. “We can’t really…know these things. And we can’t change the past no matter how hard we try to puzzle through ‘what-ifs’ and stuff like that. I think what’s important is today. You and me? We’re alive and breathing today and we have to keep our eyes forward for humanity. Maybe there’s a reason we were summoned early to the Military Police. Maybe if we’d been there, we’d be dead too,” He frowned, pensive, and leaned back into his bed with a small sigh. “I know that sounds horrible and it was probably all just dumb luck and coincidence. But because we’re alive today, we can contribute to tomorrow.” When he turned, half his face was clothed in the darkness of the sun setting through the window. A lone lantern clung tight to the feeble light it gave. “Jean,” Marco continued, “Never forget that I believe in you. It’s because you have such a good heart, and that you care about all those lives lost, that you’ll be a good leader. People will look up to you for that. They'll trust you to do what's best.”

Jean swallowed and drew his blanket up over his head. “Go to sleep,” he managed. “S’what I’m doing.”

Marco chuckled a little bit, but it was sad and quiet. “Good. You’ll feel a lot better in the morning, I’m sure. Apparently we have a lot going on, but the commander wouldn’t tell us much about it. I guess us rookies don’t get to know much about anything yet.” He yawned and settled into his pillow, ignoring the sway of the bunk as another soldier entered and climbed up. Two shoes clopped onto the wood floor one after the other. He was asleep by the time the rest of their roommates filed into bed with the rustle of discarded clothes and the creaking of mattresses.

But Jean was awake, and no matter how he rolled over and tossed and turned, he could not fall asleep. His head had begun to pound again. He tasted a mixture of blood and bile in the back of his throat. His blanket, scratchy and thin, started to smother him; the air beneath it was too stale. 

Finally, he ripped it from over his face. A lone moonbeam dappled over the floor and fell across the freckles on Marco’s face. They were dark, unlike the prickle of stars out the window, yet scattered across his cheeks like quiet constellations. He slept peacefully, expression lax.

Jean studied him silently until he felt a sense of calm fall over him. This hellhole wasn’t heaven, but it wasn’t exactly hell either. This was…real life? Had everything before—-the rogue titan, the recon corps, Lance Corporal Levi, the forest of big-ass trees, the female titan, the titan-shifters, the mission to capture titans—-been one long, hellish nightmare? 

His sheets fell from his body with a rustle as he slid out of bed to brush fingers over Marco’s nose. It twitched.

Marco was there. He was there and he was warm and he was breathing and he was beautiful. And, when Jean grazed his lips over Marco’s, they were dry and tangible and as real as the hot breath had eased between them. He felt a pang of bittersweet sadness that wrenched heavily at his heart. He wanted nothing more to lay savage waste to those lips. To crawl into bed with Marco. To hold him tight and never let go. To protect him. To _keep_ him alive and breathing.

Was this his own ‘what-if’? Was this the second chance he'd yearned for--the reality he would wake to each morning, instead of the fear and cold and the silence of one who held tight to what-ifs about the freckled-face boy who believed in him and who never knew how Jean felt before death could snuff him out?

He felt a flicker of pain. For a wild moment he imagined his ribs broken, from the insistent stab of pain and the shortness of breath. But when he reached to press at his side, he was whole and the ache a fleeting memory, a hallucination even. With a little tremor, Jean crawled back into bed and slept.


	3. Some Walk, Huh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's perfect dream turns out to be less than perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took ages. I've been updating a lot of stories lately, so sometimes it's hard to give each one the attention it deserves. I really need to get on a schedule with this!
> 
> I, uh, guess I was in a bit of a fluffy mood when I wrote this. But I couldn't let Jean be happy too long. But yeah, another 5-ish pages for you.

There were many memories that Jean clung to, replaying late at night when he couldn’t sleep, just to catch a glimpse of a freckled face that grew hazy as time wore on.  His laugh, the sheepish way he’d scratch the back of his neck when praised, the freckles layered across tanned skin, dark eyes that conveyed what words could not, his inexplicable need to worry about others before himself—

And yet, somehow, he’d conveniently forgotten about Marco’s tendency to wake up at the buttcrack of fucking dawn.

Jean groaned.  The rustle of clothing and clink of metal chipped away at the silence until bleary eyes combated the quiet light of the early morning.  A blurry shape tugged 3DMG straps tight around thighs and looped them across its upper torso.

“Dammit, Marco…” Jean grunted.  He threw his pillow.  It thudded into Marco’s back and fell to the floor.

“Oh.  Good morning!”  Marco grinned as he shrugged into his jacket.  “The city is really beautiful at this time of morning, in case you want to join me for a walk before we’re expected to report for duty.”

“How the fuck are you this cheerful,” Jean muttered.  The twinge in his neck made him regret throwing his pillow, so he sat up with a long sigh and swung his feet around to graze the floor.  He shivered.  
  
Marco shrugged.  “I just am.  C’mon, then.”  He sat long enough to pull his boots up past his knees, then helped Jean untangle then secure his own harness, before turning for the door.  “You seem like you need a chance to clear your mind anyway, and today is supposed to be a bit tough.”  
  
“Wait—“ Jean pulled his 3DMG consoles from under the bed and hitched them to his sides.  “In case we want a nice view or something…I mean, uh, yeah.”  
  
Marco nodded and secured his own.

* * *

Marco had been right.  Sunlight had just begun to scale the inner wall, lighting across cobblestone streets, touching grass and flowers and windowpanes with warmth.  Very few were out, but the clatter of horse hooves and the rickety sway of wagons were but dozy accompaniment to the quiescence of early morning.  Walking alongside Marco like this, Jean felt a rare peace settle into his chest as he breathed deeply of air that did not smell of death or bloodshed. 

They passed through a marketplace where men had just started to unfurl little tents to shelter their goods, fruits and vegetables spilling from wooden carts.  They chattered amongst themselves.  A fountain gurgled at the center

“So the people here haven’t been hit too hard by all the horseshit that’s happening in the outer walls,” Jean said.  
  
“I guess not,” Marco said.

Jean grunted his disgust.  “At least _someone_ gets to be happy.”  He turned his gaze skyward then rapped his knuckles against his 3DMG console.  “Hey.  Do you ever get to actually use these now that you’re living the cushy inner wall life?”

Marco tilted his head ever so slowly, that same concern softening dark eyes, as his lips tugged into a frown.  “Jean.  You’re doing it again.”

“Doing _what.”_

“Talking like you’re…you’ve no idea where the hell you’ve been the past few weeks.”

“Fuck.”  Jean closed his eyes and turned away.  “Let’s go.”

“Jean?”

One of his hooks shot into the brick of a near building.  He took off with it, transitioning with ease to maneuvering through the air, his feet finding the side of a new building whilst he sprinted across it, a new hook finding purchase just as gravity made a snatch for him.  He did a little flip in the air then threw himself up toward the roof.  He landed with a dull clatter and stood to collect his breath.  By then the sun was full on his face.  A breeze whistled past his ears.

Marco joined him with just as much ease, panting.  “I’d forgotten how much fun it was.”

“It’s not like fun is on mankind’s agenda lately,” Jean muttered.  “Let’s just not get caught, okay?” 

He took off again, building by building, as they climbed in height, until he was spinning an elaborate journey to the top of the capital building, the highest point in the inner wall.  He grinned as Marco landed nearby him, but only dashed off again, pleased to find the other glancing in and out from the corner of his vision, leaping and running along roofs, hurtling through the air, laugh ringing out into the stillness.

Jean laughed too.

Finally the pair ended up a tangle of limbs on a rooftop near the courthouse, panting but pleased.  Beads of sweat dripped down their hair.  Jean wiped at the back of his neck with a breathless smile. 

“You’re still way faster than I’ll ever be,” Marco admitted.  He leaned an elbow against Jean.

Jean ruffled his hair in response.  “It’s ‘cus nobody can touch this.”  He gestured to all of himself with a wide grin, then shrieked as Marco pounced to tickle his sides.

“Looks like I just did,” Marco said calmly. 

He went in for another attack, laughing wildly as he dodged flailing limbs.  Jean kicked and squirmed, tears budding from eyes squeezed shut from laughter.

“You fucking _asshole_ ,” he managed between wheezing breaths.  He lay still as Marco released him.  “Ought to push you off the damn roof.”  He heard Marco shift beside him, then turned his head to see that the other lay next to him, eyes closed.  “Marco?”

Marco’s eyes opened, inches from his, unabashed at such proximity.  “Yeah?”

“Do you think I’m wasting my talent?”

“Hmm?”

“I wonder if…my skills would be better put to use outside the wall.  S’not like the Military Police actually _does_ anything right.  I just…I just joined it because I was fucking terrified about fighting titans and wanted to live an easy life in safety.  S’stupid.  It’s a waste of everything I ever worked for.”

Marco sat up.  “Put everything you have into where you are and you’ll see that it’s not been a waste.  That’s all that you _can_ do.  Like I said earlier, there’s no point to what-ifs.”

Jean grumbled something, but felt his breath snatched away with warmth of lips brushing past his own.  He’d pictured the scenario millions of times in his head, but his cheeks lit bright red as he tried to swallow, throat suddenly dry. 

Marco only scratched at the back of his neck and turned away.  “Sorry, you just looked too perfect in the morning light.  I-I don’t know what came over me.”  He gnawed his bottom lip.  “You can forget that happe—“

Marco yelped.

Jean jerked him down by the collar so suddenly that their heads cracked together, noses grappling as he tried to find an angle to demand more from those lips.  Hissing in pain, Marco allowed himself to sprawl out over Jean’s body, palms sweaty on either side of his head.  And he kissed him, softly, still blinking in surprise and trying to make sense of his racing heart or the desperate grunts of the other beneath him. 

“Don’t want to forget,” Jean finally managed between kisses.  “Don’t ever want to forget a single fucking thing about you.”  Both hands found Marco’s cheeks and pulled him closer as his tongue grazed the bottom of Marco’s lip until the other met him halfway.  Then his fingers, teasing through the soft fuzz of the undercut, slipped past his ears to tangle into his hair.

He’d needed this.  Needed this more than the oxygen they shared between close space and desperate kisses.  Needed this more than life itself.  He burned with desire to get impossibly close, until he couldn’t tell whose limb was whose—not that it mattered—and until Marco was all that he could see, breathe, smell, feel.

And Marco, panting and moaning softly, writhed against him, encouraged him with nipping teeth and little gasps, especially as Jean’s fingers slid down his torso and hooked under the 3DMG straps at his waist.

Finally he pulled away, his cheeks flushed, eyes bright, still peering down at Jean from on top of him.  “I…I wasn’t expecting—“  A nervous chuckle ate the rest of his words.  “I just—uh, some walk, huh.”

Jean could only nod. 

“Shouldn’t—we should take this slow,” Marco managed.  He brushed Jean’s hair with his palm til it stuck up in the front. 

“I mean mayb--,” But then Jean bolted upright—nearly knocking Marco’s head a second time—with the sound of voices below.  “The hell…?”  He peered over the roof to see several of the Military Police commanders escorting a single cuffed and bound figure toward the courthouse.

“That’s—that’s Eren—“ Jean breathed.  
  
Marco joined him.  “You—you’re right.”  He leaned back quickly, dragging Jean with him, before they could be seen.  “But why is Eren…?”

“Shit,” Jean said.  “Shitshitshitshit _shit_ shitfucking _shit._ ”  For a wild moment, he forgot Marco was there, forgot himself.  “If Eren is being dragged there—then that means that—that means we’re on the same shitty timeline—“

“Timeline--?”

“Oh fuck this is all a fucking dream, isn’t it—and that means—that means, oh shit, some major shit is going to go down, isn’t it—“

“Jean?!”

He barely noticed sweaty palms at his forehead and intense eyes willing him to calm down. 

“Jean, look at me.  Jean.  Please.  I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re scaring me a little—Jean?”

“That means that Annie is probably—oh shit, you stupid fucking mind, couldn’t you have come up with a dream where shit goes _smoothly?_ ”

“Dream--?”

His breathing escalated to a point where black ringed his vision and a wave of dizziness met with the bile rising in his throat.  “I’ve got to find Annie—“ he managed.  “Oh god, shit’s going to hell soon, goddammit…”  He coughed until his chest hurt, then finally let himself sag into Marco’s arms as an intense throbbing resurfaced in the back of his skull and pain lanced through broken ribs.  Marco’s touch, smell, voice combated the prickle of flames and a hushed argument somewhere in another consciousness.

 

 


	4. Annie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, hello, I am still alive

“He’s not waking up— we cannot continue to cart him around—“

“He’s not dead either—“

“Eren, don’t argue with me.”

Jean felt the dim light of a candle wedge his eyes into slivers.  Shapes swam in and out of focus.  The stench of urine and mud and gore and infection seeped in a wave of thick humidity. 

It was too much.  He clenched his fist a little, but the effort ignited a fresh wave of pain and an overwhelming sense of brokenness—like his ribs would fall away from his chest with the racking coughs that shook him like a rag doll.

“If it was any of your original squad then—“

“Don’t you _ever—“_

A groan splintered from Jean’s throat, past a tongue that felt like leather.

The argument halted.  The pair hardly dared breathe, but Jean could feel them shift closer.

Eren and Levi.

 _Marco_.  Just the one word, and agony seethed into something deeper than just physical injury. 

“Jean?”  Eren, again.  A quivering breath lighted warm across Jean’s face. 

Jean’s eyes cracked just slightly wider. 

No no, this was the right reality, but now it was the wrong reality.  Marco was in the reality he wanted—Marco was on the rooftop with him, safe and alive and _kissing_ him--

Levi lunged to the bed and snapped in Jean’s face.  The motion disoriented Jean and he screwed his eyes shut and groaned louder.  He would have turned his neck if not for the spasms of pain that seized his spine. 

“Stay with me, Kirschstein,” Levi barked.

“Fuck off…” Jean managed.

A sharp pain pricked his shoulder; Levi had pinched him and was now glowering down into his face, brows sharp with disapproval.

“Want Marco…s’in danger…”  Jean’s hand slithered down into his pocket and tightened around something smooth.  The shard of bone he’d kept.  “ _Marco_ …”

“You’re delirious,” Levi said, retreating a few inches.  He shot a look at Eren.   “Speak sense into him.”

“ME? “  Eren sighed but hovered over Jean, tentative hand wiping beads of sweat from an overheated forehead.  “Look, it’s not like we don’t _want_ to leave you to be titan bait while you fucking slack off, but that’s not an option—we’re in a serious predicament and we fucking need you—“

Jean grimaced.  “The hell are you talking about…”

“Just listen to him,” Mikasa said from somewhere far away.  Her tone was clipped.  Jean craned his neck a little to glance her direction—big mistake, pain spat bullets through his back—and groaned.  She hovered near the door, wringing her hands as eyes darted out the exit.  With every crackle of flame and rustle of wind, her shoulders grew tense.  Gashes sank deeper than the shadows in the hollows of her face.

“The hell happened to you?” he managed.

“Maybe you should explain, Mikasa…” Eren said, stepping back. 

She shook her head.  “You know more about it.”

“But he’ll listen to _you_ , that stubborn shithead—“

“ _Eren_.”  Her voice dripped danger.

His breath left him with a harsh sigh, but he sank down into the chair.  “Don’t see why I have to be the one…”  Scratching his head, he swallowed but began to speak.  “We’ve been separated from the rest of our group, Jean—the titans hav—“

He felt himself fading again, and even the harshness and desperation of Eren’s words were sucked into the vortex of static crackling in his ear.  Numbness replaced pain.

“Jean?  Jean?” 

Jean heard the patter of palms on his cheeks before he felt it.  His eyes slipped open, but when he tried to move his body gave easily and allowed him to sit—nearly knocking heads with Marco again.  “Huh what?”

“You…you fainted,” Marco said.  He peered back over the top of the roof with a little sigh.  By then the procession of military personnel and elected officials had waned, cut off with the resounding thud of the heavy courthouse doors.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I-I did?  Well shit.  Must be having an off day…”  Jean said, though his voice fell into quiet distance.  He joined Marco on the ledge with a hint of uneasiness.  What had Eren been trying to tell him?  With a grimace he shook his head, fist tightening against his own leg.  It wasn’t really his business anyway—what could Jean do that Eren or Levi could not?

“You’re zoning out again…” Marco said, waving his hand in front of Jean’s face.

Blinking wildly, Jean snapped to reality.  “Huh?  Oh…”

“What do you think is going on down there?” Marco asked, taking him by the elbow but craning over the ledge for a better look.  Only a few military police officials patrolled the courtyard.  “Did Eren do something…?”

“Look,” Jean snapped, “You wouldn’t believe it if you knew—“  He bit his tongue with a harsh scoff, but his expression softened when Marco only stared.  He shook his head. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Marco said quietly, drawing away.  Climbing to his feet, he adjusted his gear and turned away with a little sigh.  “But I’m here for when you’re ready to spill.  I hope you know that.  Just…just don’t think you have to hide stuff from me.”  With a squeal, a line shot from his 3DMG, the edge clattering but gripping the stone of a nearby building.  He shot down into the alleyway on light feet and transitioned into a walk as the line withdrew with a hiss. 

Jean watched him leave with a long sigh.  “You wouldn’t understand, that’s the thing…Hell, I don’t even understand it.”  But, though with a heavy heart, he climbed to his feet with fresh resolve, lips set into a frown.  “But regardless of what Eren said, it’s not like I’m here without a purpose.  Major shit is about to go down…This time I’ll be able to save you, Marco.”

\--

Finding Annie was not an easy task; whoever he asked only shrugged and shook their heads, some scoffing about how lazy she must be to shirk her duties with the Military Police.  One kid entertained the idea that she’d soon be demoted and used as titan fodder—a joke which made the group around the cafeteria table shake with laughter.

Jean only shuddered, teeth tightening into a little grimace.  He felt the phantom stab of broken ribs, hand shooting to that region only to find it intact.  Lips thin, he glanced toward the table in the back where Marco sat alone.  Their eyes met, but Marco looked away with a sullen frown.

 _You’re really fucking stubborn,_ Jean thought.  Then, standing so abruptly that his chair skidded backwards behind him, he slammed his hands on the table.  Silverware clattered.  Cups sloshed.  All eyes were on him.  “Whatever,” he muttered at them.   “Go ahead and live in your weird little bubble.  See if I care.  You somehow think that all this is a game.  Reality has a way of bitch-slapping you in the face, remember that.”

He left to a cacophony of confused chatter.

The Military Police barracks were separated by that of rank and then gender.  Despite this, there were no real rules to who could go where—and nothing stopping Jean from picking up and moving to a whole new barrack altogether—and he considered it, just to stop finding himself staring longingly at the swell of moonlight glancing over Marco’s face as he slept.

Too much guilt.

He rolled over in his bed with an angry snort, sheets wrapping tightly around his arms and legs until he felt as if he were being strangled.  Then, biting back a curse, he thrashed against their hold, balled them up, and flung them out onto the floor.  He kicked through them to the door, pausing only to struggle back into his 3DMG—not caring how the buckles clattered against the metal consoles or the harsh pull of air in and out of his nose.

By some miracle, his roommates did not even stir.

Annie had to sleep at _some_ point, Jean thought as he stepped out into the night.  Though muggy, a slight breeze lifted away the perspiration on his brow and soothed his nerves.  The stars blinked through a dense fog.

He found what must have been Annie’s barracks, tiptoeing in between the light snores and quiet breaths of girls curled into their bunkbeds.  Hyperaware of the tap of his shoes on the floor and the creak of his 3DMG, Jean barely dared breathe as he wandered down the aisles, pausing long enough to peer in each of their faces but recognizing none.

Maybe he’d chosen the wrong building.  Were there others?  Finally, he halted at an empty bunk toward the back and nearly overlooked it, but paused at the crease of wrinkles across a blanket hastily thrown over the mattress and the corner of paper peaking from beneath a dented pillow.  Not an unclaimed bunk—just a temporarily abandoned one.  Tugging the paper free, he could discern a crude likeness of Reiner and Bertoldt. 

The ceiling shifted with a slow creak.  Jean tensed, accidentally balling his fist around the paper and crushing it.  With a pang of guilt, he stuffed it back under the pillow and exited, lifting his head to stare up at the roof where he saw a lone figure crouched on one end like a gargoyle.

Watching him.

Rolling his eyes, Jean shot up onto the roof and stood with his arms crossed.  “You spend all your nights sitting on some roof?  Or do you also moonlight as a traitorous bitch in this world too?”

Annie whirled around, fists raising at level with her temples, shoulders lifted as her stance widened.  Then, processing his words, she fell lax, fingers uncurling at her sides.  “What…did you say?”

The tension hung from Jean like shackles, and he watched, his own body coiling with unease, eyes piercing the darkness lest Annie made one wrong move. 

But her words weren’t laced with anything but resignation—no danger in her thick accent or in the way her eyes faded into something dull, even in the moonlight. 

“I know how this will play out,” Jean said.  “And don’t ask me about my sources, I just know.  You’re the female titan, and you’re going to fuck shit up real soon, aren’t you.  You know about Eren, and you’re going to try to kidnap him—I mean, you’ve already betrayed humanity once, so it’s up to you to just keep fucking shit up, just when we start to figure shit out.  You get a real kick out of stuff like that, don’t you.”

She clicked her tongue with a little scoff, but her head hung as she stared at her feet.  “You said ‘in this world’,” she said slowly, “What’s happened since my capture?”

“I—what—“  Jean stumbled back a little with a pensive frown.  His face drained.  “You…you…”

“This world isn’t real,” Annie said with a little shrug.  “So I don’t know why you’re getting worked up about it.”

“I— _bullshit_ —“

“Hmph.”

“You’re lying,” Jean said, “Because it sure feels real to me.  A-and even if it wasn’t real—what’s the point with going through with your lameass plan to betray humanity?”

“Don’t know what else to do,” Annie said simply.  “Don’t get in my way.”

“If you lay one finger on Marco—“

Annie, who had been turning to leave, glanced back at him.  “Who do you think created this world?  You’ve entered _my_ dream.  And you think it’s coincidence that Marco is magically alive in this one.  No.”  Her feet nestled in the grass with a muffled tap as she leapt down from the building.  The door creaked open and shut again.

Jean was left to stare at the space she’d been standing, mind reeling.  “Your dream?  Why would Marco be alive in _your_ dream…”

When he reached into his pocket, his fingers curled around a familiar worn fragment of bone.

And his heart froze.

 "I won't let it happen again," he vowed silently.


End file.
